


Old Wounds: Being the Twenty-First Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: The Medallion [5]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC





	1. A Sacrifice Offered

Sacrifices are a part of life; every relationship, whether glancing or deep, necessitates that all involved make sacrifices now and again. At work, at home, at play, and even at rest, people make greater and lesser (and mostly so much lesser as to be minute) sacrifices every day, though some might not be aware of it, and many gifted with the sacrifice never see it that way.

Sacrifices are supposed to be hard; if you offer up something that you really couldn’t do anything else with, it isn’t really a sacrifice, is it? I mean, it’s still an offering, but a sacrifice is something deeper than that. Most people can’t tell the difference when they receiving rather than offering the sacrifice, since they discount how much it cost the giver to make the sacrifice.

You see, I was thinking about it because the only way I could think of to demonstrate my complete trust and faith in Alamsta would be to sacrifice something so that she could have it, or get something she wanted with it, or whatever. The point is that I could give her “offerings” all day long and she might be pleased, but if I gave up something for her and she knew it, she might take it more seriously.

Men are generally better at showing rather than telling, since, while anyone can say something, doing something actually takes effort; thus, I wanted to show Alamsta that she didn’t need to doubt me and that I’d never doubt her. How I was going to do that was still a bit murky, but I figured a sacrifice for Alamsta would be a good way to start.

Now, I’d noticed a certain reserve in Alamsta since she’d brought me back to the Realm, but I’d assumed that it was because we were both adults now (as such); according to what the Artificer and the First Protector had told me in the Chamber of the Tree, though, it would seem that she was still holding a grudge against me for something, so I had been cogitating furiously over the past few hours on what it might be and how I could resolve it. I was also conscious that they had intimated that I was up against a ticking clock, as well; it made trying to think about what I might have done or said even harder.

It couldn’t be that one stupid little thing I did back just after I’d brought the Miners’ forebears to the Mountain, could it? After all, that had been a complete accident, a disclosure made in ignorance, and not even one that slighted her, for crying out loud!

I had a sinking feeling that that stupid little thing was it, though. It would be something like that: something I barely remembered because it had seemed so profoundly unimportant at the time, but which had cut deeper than I knew or intended.

Well, given that as the cause, what could I do after all these years to try to make it up to her? Should I ask her? Did she want me to ask her, or would she rather I not even bring it up? Would she even know how she wanted me to make it up to her?

Yes, a sacrifice was definitely called for. But what should I sacrifice for Alamsta so that she’d know that I did it and why I did it?

Well…

There might actually be something I could do, though it wasn’t something I was very good at. On the other hand, something done badly is better than nothing done perfectly.

I just had to hope that I could finish it in time, that Alamsta would see it for what it was, and that I’d then be forgiven…

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Penance

The Heirs to the Line of Magnatharast had a tiny little private retreat they would run off to every now and again when the stress of the royal life (palace intrigues, betrayals and counter betrayals, and choosing which curtains went with which upholstery) got to be too much for them; no servants went with them, as it was somewhere they went to be utterly alone. I had been there twice: once with Alamsta and once with her ancestor Perry. Both times, the two-room shack/cabin/whatchamacallit had been in good condition, tidy and neat as a pin, as they say. The Heirs counted it as a point of pride that they kept it thus unassisted.

The cabin (or what was left of it after the Long Sleep) was in a decidedly dilapidated state when I reached it that morning, but I had half-expected that, since versions of the structure had been in this location for something like a thousand years. It actually made my job here easier while making it harder, and if you think that’s an oxymoron, just keep reading.

Most of the requirements that I had all lined up and ready to go in my head were mutually exclusive, but I was going to try to achieve them all anyway. Hopefully, I could keep the project down to one building that met as many of the requirements as it could instead of two or three different ones that each met more of the requirements. Or starting even more, but never finishing any of them once I realized that I had made one or more major blunders in the building process.

Fortunately, there was enough material in the immediate area for me to scrounge, because one of my desiderata was that this project should be carried out in as close to absolute secrecy as I could manage, so bringing in cartloads of finished lumber and such was out of the picture; this was another reason I had my fingers crossed practically the whole time I was working (insert joke about how hard it is to build with you fingers crossed here).

It was cool enough here in the forest that I could work for quite some time without having to stop for water and such. I was glad for that, and that I didn’t have to chase any of the local fauna away from the site (though I admit to being a bit surprised that the ram didn’t come to visit). Again, this made the time go by rather faster than I was fully aware of, so I was a bit surprised by how late it was when I was finally finished.

Many people who had been “born with a silver spoon in their mouth”, as I was, never learned how rewarding getting your hands dirty and getting something physically built is; being at the Camp for Troubled Youth had taught me that lesson, among others, and brought a new understanding of formerly odd passages in books I’d read where the author mentioned it. It seems to be one of those eternal things that people don’t quite get until they’ve actually gone through it, and so can’t really be put into words unless both parties to the conversation already understand.

All that aside, blistered and otherwise ripped up hands are no fun; neither are aching joints and muscles, or a raging hunger and thirst, so this exercise still counted as a sacrifice. I dearly hoped it would, at least; I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t have time to try, try again if at first I didn’t succeed here. The thought of failure after investing so much effort into this was not a pleasant one, but I had to admit that it was a possibility.

I had been able to scrounge up enough of everything that I needed just as I reached the point of needing it; I had briefly wondered if this spot had some sort of enchantment on it that made things like that happen, but I decided that it didn’t matter in the long run, since I was getting what I needed to get done done, and why look a gift horse in the mouth? I also contemplated the notion that the former inhabitants of the structure I was trying to replace were looking on with approval and that this aura was somehow helping me on, but that was probably my own ego talking, as why should Alamsta’s ancestors particularly approve of me?

I mean, I knew why I wanted to think that Alamsta’s ancestors approved of me in particular, but I well knew that thinking something didn’t make it so. Even Perry might look askance at what I was doing and what my intentions were, and he and I had been pretty close during that phase of my travels to the Realm.

Even with the possibly spurious enchantment of the area or the amassed goodwill of Alamsta’s ancestors to help me on, the modest building that resulted from all my work didn’t come out quite the way I’d planned because of a few mistakes, a few mishaps, one minor disaster, and the limitations of what I had available. I still thought that it looked good enough, and it even met most of my design requirements. Whether it would look good to Alamsta or meet her requirements was something else, but I’d have to bring her over here to find out…

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Scars Laid Bare

When I got back to the Castle, I found that only disappointment awaited me, at least in the near term. Alamsta wasn’t available, as she was locked in the coils of diplomacy with those other nations who wanted to regain the favor of the Realm now that they knew that the Scowrers were vanquished and the Realm triumphant; part of me hoped she’d make it difficult for them, but if she was unyielding there, how much more would she refuse to yield a grudge she’d apparently been carrying for almost a decade?

The thought occupied me enough that I failed to notice one of the ministers on the Council of the Fiefs who was anxious to find out what precisely was the truth about the Scowrers’ disappearance until he had pigeonholed me in a somewhat private corner where he could interrogate me. Even though I told him that Alamsta would have to know first and it was up to her to decide if he should know, he kept pressing at the matter until I had to outright insult the man by simply declaring the conversation over and walking away.

I don’t know why he thought I knew anything anyway; all I knew was that I needed to confer with Alamsta privately, and everything around us seemed to be conspiring to keep that from happening. I ran into the minister again a few times, and in the course of a somewhat grudging apology learned a few things about the culture of the Realm that started to clarify precisely how I might have inadvertently hurt Alamsta all that time ago. I left the minister with a far more sincere apology that soothed his ruffled feathers sufficiently that he wasn’t going to have me poisoned (ha ha ha) and even more on my mind than I’d had earlier.

It wasn’t until the day had almost ended that I realized that Alamsta was avoiding me. Not so long ago, the Assassin had taunted me by saying that the only person who would ever fear me would be me myself, but some hint of my purpose must have gotten through to Alamsta, and she was running scared. It would make sense that the Alamsta who could squeeze everything possible out of a trade negotiation and leave the other side feeling like they’d won could sense when someone wanted to talk with her about something uncomfortable, and since it was me, she was terrified.

Everyone fears having their scars laid bare to the one who gouged them out in the first place.

This kind of interpersonal maneuvering was getting beyond me. I had to consult with the First Protector again, but he wasn’t around when I ascended to the Reliquary after a frustrating state dinner spent staring moodily at Alamsta from my place far down the table.

By this time, I had realized what I should have years ago: some of my earliest trips to the Realm had actually happened in a somewhat anachronic order; that is, my first visit had happened after my second visit from the viewpoint of the Realm and its inhabitants, for example. This brought into my mind both a headache and the memory of something that had mystified me at the time but was perfectly clear now: Alamsta’s behavior towards me when I came to escort her to her Trials in the Chamber of the Tree. She’d been almost ready to kill me, and I hadn’t a clue as to why, but if I had done that one seemingly little thing to her before then (from her perspective), it was all too comprehensible.

No, the Shade of the First Protector wasn’t in the Reliquary when I got there—but Alamsta was, and in the flesh…

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. All My Sins Remembered

Oh, this was going to be _awkward_.

I’d composed roughly a million or so clever and persuasive speeches with which to start this discussion out while I was actively trying to arrange this private conversation with Alamsta, but they all flew right out of my head when, after having given up on seeing her tonight, I walked into the Reliquary and saw Alamsta’s suddenly pale face (not that any of them would actually have worked, even if I’d used them). The fact that she was in a particularly fetching outfit that accentuated her physique didn’t help, as my body chose to react in that most traditional male manner of all; I was grateful that I wasn’t actually drooling, but that was about the extent of my self-control.

The weird thing about it was that I wasn’t surprised to see Alamsta at all; in fact, it felt like this moment was one that had been fated to occur. No, what held me frozen was a combination of my body’s response and the even more overwhelming response from my mind: pure, undiluted, utterly paralyzing terror that as soon as I said anything, everything would be ruined forever.

This was not nearly an irrational fear.

We just stood there for what seemed like forever, frozen in a tableau that probably would have seemed comical to someone walking in who found us like that. Neither of us thought there was anything remotely humorous about the situation at the time, of course; maybe we’ll change our minds in another few decades, but I doubt it.

A choked sound from Alamsta (and seeing where her eyes had gone) galvanized me into action. With great effort of will, I jerked into motion, positioning myself so that one of the many waist-high bits of furniture in the room (this one was what I would otherwise have called a magazine stand, though I had never seen any evidence that the Realm actually printed magazines) blocked my lower half from her view. With an even greater effort of will, I closed my eyes and composed myself.

Centering myself was impossible, as I well knew; I also knew that I needed to bring myself as close to “in control” as I could manage, so I concentrated on the techniques for doing so that Melegrethan had tried to hammer into my reluctant head.

Now, this would have been the perfect time for Alamsta to make her escape from what we both knew would be a long, difficult and wearing conversation, but when I opened my eyes again, she was still there; perhaps she knew that fleeing would only postpone the inevitable and so “if ’twere done, ’twere well ’twere done quickly”, though I’m certain she’d never read MacBeth. Anyway, she was still in the same place she’d been when I opened my eyes, as I said.

Well, the ball was in my court now, so I had to figure out just what I was going to say.

It looks so easy, put into words on a page like that, but in the moment, it was harder than anything I had ever had to do, including trying to convince Perry to come back home and witness his father’s death. I had to do it, though, and, as with Perry, I had to succeed.

At the very least, I had to try.

I had to say something, but the words just weren’t coming to me, no matter how hard I searched for them.

A large part of my problem lay in this: Truth is the Way of the Protectors, and I had committed myself to telling the truth regardless of how much it hurt me to do so, but what is a Protector to do when the truth sounds like a lie? This was the dilemma I now faced…

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Contrition

Well, here goes nothing. “I hurt you, and it’s making things difficult between us now. I’m sorry that I hurt you; I was sorry as soon as I knew what I’d done; but I cannot change what I did. If I could, I would, but none of us can.”

Okay; that was an acceptable start, but could I keep it up?

Probably not.

Plowing on regardless: “We need to trust each other, and we need to know that we trust each other. My trust in you is absolute, but since I hurt you, I damaged your trust in me; is there anything I can do to help to mend that trust?”

This time, it was Alamsta who let the silence continue for an unutterably long time, though I doubt she was worried about saying the wrong thing. No; she was weighing my words against the memory of her pain, and probably finding that they came up short.

The key problem was one that all men know as a fundamental truth: talk is cheap. Anyone can say anything and then turn around and do things that utterly contradict what they just said. When Alamsta matched my words against my actions, there was a fundamental inequity there that could only be overcome, ironically enough, by the very trust I had damaged and was attempting to rebuild.

Of course, I knew that Alamsta’s trust in me had not been destroyed: even at the lowest point, right after I had hurt her, she had been able to draw upon that trust in order to resist the temptation of the power of the Witching Ring that the Magician had offered to her; this was how she’d passed her final Trial, and this gave me hope that she might find the trust in me to help me build that trust back into what we both needed it to be.

There are times when saying anything more than what has already been said is a mistake; the “one question too many” that aspiring lawyers learn about is an example of this. No one will ever accuse me of trying to avoid this mistake. “I know that talk is cheap, so I ask again: what can I do to restore your trust in me?”

Alamsta finally spoke, her voice smaller and more uncertain than I’d ever heard it: “I don’t know.”

This was certainly as honest a response as I could have wished for; it was somewhat less helpful than I had hoped it would be, but you have to work with what actually is rather than what you hope for. If Alamsta didn’t know what she needed from me in order to restore her trust, nothing I did could fill that need except through the same kind of happenstance that had led to my hurting her in the first place, so that was that.

Then Alamsta added one word to what she’d said, one more word that reignited my hopes: “Yet.”

At that moment, yet was the most beautiful word I’d ever heard. Yet meant that Alamsta knew that I could do something to restore her trust in me, even if she couldn’t tell me what it was that I needed to do. The relief flooding me spilled out of my mouth without passing through my brain first. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that last word.”

There are certain expressions which would be so out of character for someone to wear that you literally cannot imagine them on that someone’s face; if one of these is the exact reaction you’re trying to elicit through a conversation, you might want to reassess your goals.

Certainly, Alamsta’s expression was not the one that I was hoping to see…

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Confession

As I watched in dismay, a combination of anger and cynicism crept over Alamsta’s face, telling me that some lie sparked by my careless remark had taken hold in her mind.

Great. How had I put my foot in my mouth this time around? “I said something stupid, didn’t I,” I stated. “Please, Alamsta, try to ignore my annoyingly wayward tongue, for the sake of the Realm if for no other reason.” Well, at least I knew how I put my foot in my mouth that time.

Alamsta’s eyes flashed. “I think we both know that your sudden urge to atone springs from a lower source.” Her tone was, naturally, biting as only she could make it.

Sometimes, that which is Truth can still be used as a lie, or to forward a lie; it is against such that a Protector must ever be on guard. “You are wrong. While I do not deny that the ‘lower source’ exists,” and here I stepped out from behind the magazine stand, “as the evidence for it is rather obvious, I tell you now and I will maintain under torture that it is not the sole or even the primary cause of my desire to repair our relations.”

Alamsta smirked disdainfully. “The actions of tens of thousands of your fellows across all of recorded history suggest otherwise.”

I held her haughty gaze. “I’m not any of those ‘fellows’: I am the Young Protector. You have known me; you have trusted me; I ask only that you find a way to trust me again, in this and in anything else that must be. I offer my own trust in return, as I have already offered my life and my hopes in your service.”

Alamsta flushed, her face still quite angry. “I don’t want your service!” Then she bit her lip in consternation.

Well, she almost certainly hadn’t meant to say that; it was a bit of a confession to make, after all. I immediately jumped in to try to ease her obvious embarrassment; this time, putting my foot in my mouth would relieve us both, so there really was no downside. “My service is yours already; I offer something reserved only for those in whom I trust as I trust in you: my friendship.”

You might think this is kind of a weak thing to say, but in the language of the Realm, there’s a word for “friendship” that means (very roughly) “as close as can be to being the same person”, and it’s almost never used, though everyone knows what it means; that was the word I used for “friendship”, and I meant it, and Alamsta could tell that I meant it. [A Note from the Translators: We have included this passage (though other editions and earlier versions have generally omitted it as not strictly necessary since we all still know what “friendship” means) in order to be able to say that this translation is a complete and accurate one.] The word has weight.

Again, talk is cheap, but this word and the way I used it held a promise, and I was more than ready to back that promise up with as much action as was needed.

I could see that my use of the word had deeply affected Alamsta; I hoped that it would effect my desired aim in her as well, but as it was not going to be evident whether that was the case or not for some time I needed to back the word up with actions until I knew. [A Note from the Translators: The root words for “affected” and “would bring about” only differ by one letter in the original language.]

Of course, those actions could include more words as well…

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. Atonement

Time was running out for this odd quest of mine for redemption in Alamsta’s notoriously scornful eyes; I had no idea how I knew this to be true, but I knew it was true as certainly as I knew my own name. Was I mad to keep pressing on like this without allowing Alamsta time that might potentially work in my favor, as time proverbially heals all wounds? No. There was no time, and while reflection might lead Alamsta to the conclusion I wished, it might also do the opposite, hardening her desire for self-protection into a shell of distrust that would prove fatal for us both.

The Assassin thought he was taunting me when he claimed that the only person who would ever fear me would be me, but he didn’t understand that I don’t want to be feared; especially, I don’t want Alamsta to ever be afraid of me, and distrust always comes from fear of future pain. Sometimes this fear is fear from experience; sometimes, it’s fear from imagination. The fear I was fighting to quell in Alamsta was from experience, which is always the hardest fear to expunge.

Fear is like fire: a good servant, but a terrible master. Fear leads us to do things we wouldn’t otherwise do in order to avoid the pain of an unwanted outcome, but sometimes those things are things we shouldn’t do, or prevent us from doing things that would give us joy. Fear can kill you while trying to save you.

It’s taken me as long as I’ve been alive to learn how to fight fear in myself, and I still keep losing on a regular basis; how on earth was I to fight fear in Alamsta? The mostly helpless feeling running through me reminded me strongly of how I’d felt when lying bound against the Tree in bunny form, unable to say anything that might help Alamsta to eschew the Witching Ring.

I suddenly realized that the Tests had also been Testing me, to see how much I trusted Alamsta in that instance. Now, I faced the test again, and I could only do what I had done then: give Alamsta the choice, and trust her to make the right decision. This was doubly difficult given the ticking clock we faced, but I would have to do it and show Alamsta that I was doing it.

There was something on a nearby table which would allow me to show Alamsta that my trust in her was absolute. The ornate hilt holding the dagger was most uncomfortable to grab, as it had been designed to look pretty rather than to be held, but the discomfort was barely background noise in my mind as I held the dagger out to Alamsta. “Take it.”

Once the dagger was unsheathed and in Alamsta’s hand, I knelt at her feet, my back to her. “I trust you enough to present you with a naked blade and my unarmored back,” I told her. “I’d trust you if you held the blade against my throat, or anywhere else. I will never not trust you, Alamsta.”

I heard rustling behind me for a few endless moments, then Alamsta said, “Stand up and turn around.”

When I turned, Alamsta was naked.

After an ejaculated oath of which I am not proud, I turned my back again, quivering throughout from the war between my will and my body.

I heard Alamsta put the dagger down. “I trust you,” she said calmly. “I trust you enough to present you with my naked body and to set aside the weapon you yourself gave me. I trust you, now and always.”

While I was very happy to hear this, all I could say in response was, “Could you put your clothes back on, please?” My voice decided this was the perfect time to revert back to adolescence, wavering upwards with each word and finally cracking on the last one.

Alamsta laughed, but I heard fabric rustling again, so I relaxed slightly.

It was a good thing Alamsta began dressing when she did, because almost immediately the door to the Reliquary began to open…

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. Absolution

Huh. I had been up in the Reliquary enough times to form a statistically valid sample, and I’d never been interrupted by someone else entering the room before. This wouldn’t ordinarily alarm me, but since Alamsta was with me, I couldn’t afford to not be alarmed.

With a speed born of the adrenaline that had been chugging through my veins since I had first seen that Alamsta was in the Reliquary (which seemed like perhaps two or three lifetimes already), I grabbed up the dagger from where Alamsta had dropped it and moved over to the opening door. “Halt and identify yourself!” I snapped, positioning myself so that I completely blocked whoever it was from seeing Alamsta.

The reply was in an unfamiliar voice. “I have the honor to be the emissary from the Realm Above, Young Protector, and I need an audience with Her Royal Highness.”

I had had no idea that the giants from the cloud-borne Realm Above were part bloodhound, but this one must have been to track Alamsta all the way to the Reliquary. I looked back at the now fully clothed Alamsta, who nodded and walked towards the door.

The emissary was, like all the giants who came as emissaries to the Realm Proper, around eight feet tall; this was actually the result of a magical shrinkage via an apple from a tree that grew by the entrance to the Grove through which these emissaries accessed the Chamber of the Tree and the Realm Proper. They were still easily large and strong enough to be dangerous to a normal human, though.

I held the door from opening further until Alamsta was directly behind me. “I’m afraid only Protectors and those of the Line of Magnatharast are permitted in this chamber, but Her Royal Highness has deigned to allow you to accompany her as she returns to the main part of the Castle.” With that, Alamsta swept by me and out into the corridor, setting a pace that the emissary had to scramble to match, while I took my place behind them after securing the door to the Reliquary.

The emissary glanced back at me and bent to murmur something at Alamsta, which I expected was a statement of disinclination to talk about certain matters in my company, but Alamsta was having none of that. “The Young Protector enjoys my absolute trust; anything you would say to me can be said in his presence. Speak or leave it unsaid.”

The emissary bowed respectfully. “I meant no disrespect, Your Royal Highness.”

Alamsta inclined her head graciously. “Very well. Now, what was so important that you needed to chase me down when I was consulting with the Young Protector?”

The emissary almost said something along the lines of ‘Is that what they’re calling it now?’, but thought better of it. One would expect a diplomat would have better control of their face than to broadcast their thoughts so obviously, but this one apparently didn’t; possibly it was the result of the circumstances in which the emissary had found us.

Anyway, the emissary from the Realm Above began to tell Alamsta about something happening in the Realm Above that the giants considered not simply very important but something of an emergency, while at the same time being afraid to let it be known publicly; as I listened, I could quickly see why they were concerned, as the news was shocking and potentially dangerous.

I would go into greater detail about what they were discussing (especially considering what happened just moments later)…

…But that’s part of another story.

THUS ENDS

Old Wounds

Being the Twenty-First Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion

THE STORY CONTINUES WITH

Riddles & Fiddles & a Few Bagpipes, Too

Being the Twenty-Second Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion


End file.
